


Whiskers

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Slavery, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Romulan slaves and a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskers

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Tasme and Sekor are two Romulan slaves, owned by the Praetor, featured briefly in the ST novel [Killing Time](http://startrekreviews.tumblr.com/post/75014831530/tos-novel-24-killing-time). I’m making the Romulan version of a cat up.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re kneeling on the floor when she leaves, hands upheld to receive her newest pet, but Sekor’s remain empty. When the door clicks shut behind their mistress, he glances aside to see Tasme melting into the hold of the weight in his arms—a pretty, furry thing. He cuddles it close to his bare chest, mindless of her claws, and he purrs as much to the creature as to Sekor, “I always wanted a cat.”

“Possessions do not own possessions,” Sekor quotes, but he’s unable to keep the half-formed, fond smile off his lips. They straighten at roughly the same time, now alone in the expansive second bedroom of their mistress’ vacation home, where they will wait until told otherwise. Her vacations are usually more politically inclined, but to Sekor, that makes little difference. He crosses the floor to the gold-trimmed replicator in the wall, already craving the more exotic things Romulus has to offer. He keys in the code for a tropical cocktail and asks over his shoulder, “Will you have anything?”

“No ale,” Tasme replies with a smooth glance that Sekor smirks at; he sees straight through Sekor’s thin veil. “We cannot afford to be off our game while we’re tasked with such a vital mission.”

Sekor snorts into his drink, enjoying the tangy flavour of the relisnar fruit mixing with the synthehol at the bottom of his glass. He chooses a lighter flavour for Tasme, based on nothing more than what he likes to taste on another’s tongue. “I hardly think babysitting a cat qualifies as ‘vital,’ Tasme.”

“Oh? And what do you think would happen to us were the Praetor to return to find her newest acquisition not in its prime condition?” 

Sekor answers by way of a subtle shiver—that is true. A tall glass appears on the replicator tray, and Sekor plucks it up, carrying it across the padded, beige-grey quarters to where Tasme is lounging along a sea-green couch. The cat is nestled safely in his arms, and he doesn’t dare disturb them to reach for the glass, so Sekor simply places it on the side table within reach. Tasme murmurs a quiet, “Thank you,” and strokes behind the feline’s ears.

Cats, like most animals, do little for Sekor. But that’s for the best; he can never own one. Tasme doesn’t seem so clear on such obvious matters, and he grins as the fuzzy creature in his arms yawns, bearing sharp, broad fangs to the crispy island air. At least Tasme may enjoy his task. Careful not to disrupt either cat or carrier, Sekor settles in half behind Tasme, as well as he can fit, so they have one another’s warm skin to share in. The small, frail skirts their mistress grants them in this home hardly cover anything, and the air inside is kept cool for her. Neither man dares to touch the heat. Instead, Sekor drapes himself around Tasme and leans his chin on his friend’s shoulder, forehead nuzzling against Tasme’s cheek in a mockery of the animal below. Looking as comfortable in Tasme’s lap as Sekor always is, the cat stretches and lays still, bushy tail flicking idly over the other side. 

Solely for Tasme’s interest, Sekor murmurs, “You know, the Terran equivalent of a cat has no horns.”

When Tasme looks aside, his nose brushes over Sekor’s cheek. “How do you know?”

“I overheard an agent speaking with our mistress.”

He can practically feel Tasme’s frown. “You know we are never to reveal such information.”

“Even things so trivial as spineless pets? And it is only to you I would say this. You can do no more with the information than I can.”

An imperceptible shift in muscle signals Tasme’s release of breath. To comfort him further, Sekor leans back enough to press a kiss to the tip of Tasme’s pointed ear and delights in the resulting smile. 

Tasme twists to return the favour, catching the line of Sekor’s jaw. Tasme brushes Sekor’s dark bangs aside and tells him, “You already taste of ale.” Sekor offers no reply: it’s simply a cat. 

The cat, by the looks of things, has already fallen peacefully asleep. 

Sekor wraps an arm around Tasme’s waist, just above it, and gives Tasme another kiss, then another. The Praetor should be gone for at least a day, and there is no reason not to enjoy that tiny spark of freedom. 

Leaning into every piece of affection, Tasme sighs, “I suppose you want to make love in our mistress’ bed?”

“I want to use a spare bed to practice for her.” It’s allowed, and they’ll clean up of course, and they won’t go near her personal quarters. Tasme seems to give it some thought, and he strokes the sleeping cat in the meantime.

“And what of her?”

“She may watch, if she wishes.”

Grabbing a fistful of Sekor’s sleek hair, Tasme pulls him back enough to look at him, and they communicate between that: naturally, if the cat should need them for any reason, they’ll desist immediately. Eventually, Tasme slips off the couch, cradling the cat carefully in his arms and turning to lay her down in the soft cushions. Sekor already knows that they’ll have to face her—whether or not he’s partial to animals, her condition is, indeed, paramount. 

As they stroll across the room to the large, open bed, Tasme muses, “How do Terran felines defend themselves?” Sekor chuckles softly, having no idea.


End file.
